


I just wanna be Chuck.

by AugustStories



Series: Chuck Shurley, Ex-Prophet [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: But also Canon is still mentioned up until 8x01, Chuck Shurley is Not God, Chuck was such a human disaster Prophet, Kinda AU, Moving On, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Post-Season/Series 07 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 22:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19094239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustStories/pseuds/AugustStories
Summary: Chuck Shurley wakes in a meadow the day after the aborted Apocalypse at Stull Cemetery and has no memory on how he got there, all he knows: something is different.Had he gotten a second chance at life?





	I just wanna be Chuck.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if we ever learned in which state or town, Chuck lived, I couldn't find anything specific so I just took the place where Rob Benedict grew up because that is perfectly close to Kansas.
> 
> I love Rob Benedict and I love Chuck Shurley. Prophet him more than God him, so I got this idea to write him a life where he wasn't God and got to be happy.

There was a day after.

 

That was Chuck's first thought as he opened his eyes to sunshine and birds chirping and something rustling in a bush somewhere to his right.

 

A day after.

 

His second thought had him struggling to sit upright because sunshine? Birds? Bushes? He was plenty sure he had nothing of that in his living room and... he was not in his living room he established with a quick look around himself.

 

He was lying in a field. Of grass and flowers. In a clearing. Of a forest. And there was a deer staring at him as if it couldn't understand what the fuck Chuck was doing there, and yeah, that made two of them. The last thing he could remember was setting down his tumbler of Whiskey and smiling in contentment at his finished story on the desktop of his old faithful computer.

 

And then nothing.

 

Nothing about how he could have gotten here, wherever here might be.

 

Carefully Chuck checked himself over, patting himself down as if he was expecting injuries or open wounds but he found nothing but the two tender bruises on his calf from where he had run into the umbrella stand next to the front door two days ago. Assured that he wasn't bleeding to death or nursing broken ones, Chuck searched for a phone but found nothing on himself, not even a set of keys.

 

Had he been drunker than he had thought and taken a walk and gotten lost?

 

Had he gone out to celebrate his finished book and gotten so blackout drunk that he hadn't made it home?

 

Nothing.

 

Chuck got to his feet like a young horse not yet knowing how to use too unstable limbs, there was a headache somehow working at the back of his head but not yet being too overwhelming, he had a hangover but what else was new. It had been years since he had last been sober, let alone been suffering under a hangover. The deer took flight when Chuck raised a hand to push through his hair and he grimaced at the leaves he plugged out of it.

 

Well then, let's figure out where we are.

 

\--

 

He spent hours stumbling through a forest that was completely unfamiliar to him but then again he had never been a friend of nature in the first place, this could have been his backyard and he would have no clue. He found a man made looking path at some point and followed that until he reached an empty parking lot at the side of a road that seemed to cut the forest in half.

 

Chuck took a deep breath and looked left and right, a choice needed to be made and his feet were aching and he was starting to feel a little cold. Seriously, what had happened?

 

With a groan he chose left and continued on the grass line next to the road, the steady movement brought his mind to a silence that he hadn't felt in a long time, the natural soothing background noise helped as well. And as he thought over it he had to admit that he had felt lighter really since the moment Sam Winchester had dragged Lucifer back into the Cage and pulled Michael right along, as if something had been finished for Chuck as well.

 

Was that it now?

 

Was Chuck's duty to God done?

 

Or was a Prophet without a job now because the Apocalypse had been averted and the big players were taken off the chess board?

 

Could be truly hope for no more visions and crippling pain and nausea?

 

Would he have a chance at a normal life now?

 

Chuck pondered what that could mean for him as he walked along the empty road to where hopefully civilization would soon arrive. He might have only known about what he truly was for a little over a year but these visions and blackouts and images had been controlling his life for a long long time before that already. If he counted back it had started long before the Winchester brothers had become the known hunters they had been in the end, years before they had been adults.

 

They had all been part of a greater plan for so long and Chuck couldn't remember anymore what he had once wanted after graduating college, what his dreams might have been. His first vision had hit the night after he had received his diploma and nothing had ever been the same, a normal life had slipped out of reach. And though he had never been a social human being who loved to be surrounded by people, he had quickly turned from shy and careful to loner and someone who never left the house anymore.

 

And how could he have?

 

What would have happened if a vision had hit in public? He roughly knew how it looked like, he had set up a camera once, when he had still tried to figure stuff out, before he had just given up and started drinking to forget the pain. They might have brought him to a hospital, might have questioned him and then locked him up into a loony bin because Chuck couldn't lie under pressure.

 

And what then?

 

Would those fancy archangels have deemed that dangerous? Would they have pulled him out? Or wouldn't that have registered on their radar and Chuck would have spent the rest of his life strapped into a vest. And good question then how the Winchesters would have apprehended the Apocalypse, Chuck kinda helped out there. A lot.

 

What would he do now?

 

Once he got home, that was definitely a priority. Home, shower, food, sleep.

 

And then what?

 

He had finished his story about the Winchesters and he would send those two last books in for publishing because he wanted it done, those boys deserved to have their story told, even if only a handful of people might ever know that it wasn't fiction but real boys with real lives. Sam especially deserved it to have his sacrifice be told, a sacrifice for all of them, for humanity and the world. All those people, souls and good beings who couldn't been saved, who sacrificed something of their own to help the brothers on their path.

 

But afterwards?

 

His headache reminded him of its presence when he felt a little panicky over too much choices, he just hadn't had those in so long. And for all he knew he had never had a choice if what Castiel had told him about prophets was even remotely true and what reason to lie would the angel have had. Chuck's name had been one among many and he had just been the lucky or rather unlucky one to have been chosen for the great Apocalypse.

 

What a great punishment.

 

Chuck took a deep breath, nearly shocked over how good the forest air felt, and then he brushed off the future plans for the time being. Find out where he was, get home, take a shower, get food, get sleep. Everthing else could come after that.

 

\--

 

He reached a town side an unknown span of time later and he had certainly never been happier to read 'Columbia, Missouri' on a simple traffic sign. He was still home then, not somewhere across the globe where he wouldn't know the language and would probably die before getting home.

 

Chuck Shurley had been born and raised in Columbia. Had gone to school and college in Columbia. And lived in Columbia ever since. In fact he had left this town only twice in his entire life so far, a trip to Kansas City with his parents when he was a child, the return trip of which had robbed him off his parents in a car accident, and then that ill begotten trip to that blasted Supernatural Convention.

 

Maybe he could do that... Travel a little, see a bit more of Missouri first and maybe slip over into neighbouring states next when the anxiety over leaving Columbia wasn't ruling so high anymore, he had the money.

 

If those visions were a thing of the past.

 

There was no way in hell Chuck was going to step outside if that stuff was still going on.

 

As he came upon the first familiar sights of town, Chuck had to realize much to his disappointment that he still had to walk through two suburbs before he reached his street, least of all his house. That house he had once lived in with his parents, a house that his parents had bought to raise a family in, which they had been allowed to do for seven years, after that he had been raised in it by an aunt and then supported by an uncle for a while once he had been legally an adult and his aunt had fucked off.

 

He had neglected that beauty, hadn't had the energy for the upkeep, or been willing to ask professionals to come and do repairs or renovations, too afraid of strangers, too afraid to be seen in the spell of something.

 

Chuck had simply been too afraid of people in general for more than just the last ten years of his life.

 

And how was that ever gonna change now where he knew what was all out there? How many monsters could hide as normal humans? And yes, he was including fucking angels dicks in it.

 

That could be a project as well as a next step, granted the visions were gone, granted he was allowed to be simply human now. Rebuilt his home, make himself a home again. Start small, start in something familiar, somewhere where he could hide himself away in still if life became too much again.

 

He could ask some professional to do the groundwork and let the details follow by his own hand later, details like heavy warding against the supernatural, demon traps, symbols, Enochian signils, Chuck was gonna use it all. Thoughts like that brought him to his front door, body aching like a bitch, but thankfully he found the door closed but unlocked and his house seemingly undisturbed, miracles did happen to him after all it seemed.

 

Chuck locked the front door, went up to take a really long shower, then he slipped a pizza in the oven and lazily cleaned up around the living room until it was done. He ate, did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen even though his eyes were falling shut but he wanted order back in his life. The small things.

 

And then he went to bed, not caring in the least that outside the sun was going up.

 

\--

 

Two weeks after Stull and two weeks without visions found Chuck making phonecalls to a gardener and a company specializing in outside renovations for houses because that was frankly the only thing that needed to be done once he had truly cleaned the inside.

 

He had rearranged furniture already, turned his living room back into a living room and turned his father's old office back into an actual office instead of a storage unit for books, fan mail and whole boxes full of scribbled vision notes. He ordered shelves and set them up in the small basement, creating a storing space there, and just suddenly there was so much more space and it felt less like a choking prison.

 

It felt like a home again.

 

A home he wanted to live in.

 

And not just exist.

 

\--

 

Two months after Stull and two months without visions found Chuck watching three young workers from the local garden center plant his frontyard, the backyard would come next week, from the bench on his newly reworked front porch. The house's outside was a soft blue and white now, the roof a simple dark gray, and he was loving it. The sun was high in the sky, it was a beautiful warm summer day and he was holding a cup of ice tea instead of liquor.

 

He hadn't touched a bottle of anything liquor related since that last glass post Stull, and in another world he would have wondered why he hadn't been a mess of withdrawal already or felt like a longing for a beer or something heavier but there was just nothing and Chuck had questioned too much in his life to have something left for this.

 

On the one month mark of post Stull existence, Chuck had sworn himself to only look forward, to live in the present and look to the future, not the past. Sam Winchester hadn't given up anything and sacrificed himself and his innocent little half-brother to a terrible fate to not live this life now that had been granted to millions of people who didn't even know about it.

 

His last books had been published and received well, cries for more had been issued but Chuck had put his foot down, for the first time in his life he had said no to someone. He had told the publishing company that he had told the story he wanted to tell, that this was the end and that he was never going to give up the rights to this story and these characters to anyone, no matter how much they offered. He couldn't, not when it wasn't just a story but real life, not just characters but real people.

 

Sam and Dean and all those people that had ever been drawn into their circles, they deserved to be protected and not turned into entertainment, not anymore. Chuck could do at least that for them, for Sam and Adam who went to hell for humanity. For Dean who was out now, who deserved the normal life, who deserved a chance at happiness after all the pain and loss.

 

Chuck would protect them like that.

 

Where it concerned work or creativity, Chuck had finally taken up the offers of a local news station and he was writing about local folklore for them, seeming as he had kinda been doing that for enough places all over the US already, it came easy. And he was entertaining some ideas for novels and stories that were so far away from the Supernatural books.

 

\--

 

Five months after Stull and Chuck got an ultimate answer to the one remaining question in his head over whether or not he was still a Prophet of the freaking Lord when the bus he was taking across town got tee-boned by a truck whose driver had a stroke. Chuck was only one of three passengers but like the driver they had been lucky to be sitting in the not so damaged front while Chuck had been sittng right in the middle.

 

And there certainly was no Archangel descending to wreck fierce fury on a truck as he drifted in and out of consciousness while the firefighters and paramedics tried to free him from where he was stuck.

 

There was no Raphael coming to save him when he lost the fight against the darkness just as the paramedics could finally lay a hand on him.

 

Chuck awoke to pain, beeping machines and too bright lights six days later but funny enough, he woke up happy.

 

No longer a Prophet. No more visions, no more prophecies. No more angel dicks. No more demons.

 

Just Chuck, just Chuck getting to live his life the way he wanted it to.

 

Well, after the hospital stay and the rehab.

 

\--

 

A year and a day after Stull found Chuck driving over the stateline to exactly that little abandoned place outside Lawrence, Kansas. It took less than three hours from Columbia and it was the first longer trip he took since he had gotten the all clear from his doctors, aside from three scars nothing remained of that terrible accident.

 

A miracle as the doctors had claimed.

 

Chuck preferred to call himself lucky in that aspect, he was done with miracles, that wasn't his business anymore.

 

He had originally thought about going on the exact 'anniversary' but had backed out at the last minute because he thought if not Dean then Bobby might be visiting the cemetery and he would surely not appreciate to find a stranger lurking around. And who knew if angels might not be mourning their lost Prince of Heaven in some way, Chuck for all planes of hells didn't want to run into those dicks, maybe with the exception of Castiel but even there Chuck wasn't so sure. Castiel had been the one who brought Dean onto the idea of shoving Chuck into the room with a high rank demon to lure an Archangel down.

 

He parked outside the rusty old gates and walked down the overgrown wild meadow that the cemetery had long since turned into with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and his feet secure on the uneven ground – a feat that a month ago wouldn't have been possible. His rehabilitation trainer, that man was a miracle worker, fuck angels, fuck archangels, that man had the real power, had kept Chuck going when the frustration over too little progress had been so consuming.

 

He found the spot where Sam had opened the gate to the Cage from memory still, some things were fading out, old stuff, stuff that hadn't been important to the greater game but this was still crystal clear. He crouched down and pulled one of the little bookmarks from his pockets that a Supernatural fan had sent him, he had chosen the one with the anti possession symbol at the top and the brother's initials at the bottom, he had a feeling Sam might have liked this one. He pulled at the grass a little until dirt got revealed and then he pressed the bookmark into the ground.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered then and set his right hand palm down into the grass, “You saved us all, Sam. Humanity might never know but I do, and I can try and be grateful for all of them. I for one will live my life in the knowledge that I still have it because of your sacrifice.” He patted the earth gently two more times then before he got up and drove back home.

 

\--

 

Chuck didn't cross paths with anything Supernatural, let alone Winchester related until another year later when he bumped into _Sam Winchester_ outside a motel in a smalltown in the Springfield, Missouri, area.

 

Chuck had been on a roadtrip to Springfield to do some research for a story idea on real historical happenings, mind adrift with thoughts as he had returned to his motel room to get changed before finding some dinner when he had turned a corner too fast without looking and walked into a tree. A tree that turned out to be a human being who was just freakishly tall and carrying a very familiar face. He gaped for a long moment before he squeaked out a pathetic “Sam!” and promptly stumbled back a few steps because his mind belatedly reminded him of the fact that the last time it had seen Sam the guy hadn't been alone in his head.

 

“Chuck?” Sam asked curiously though and then broke out into a bright smile full of surprised genuine joy, and that had to be him because that was certainly not something the Devil would be capable of. “Oh my god, you're alive?!”

“I shouldn't be?” Chuck stuttered out and frowned up at this man who should have stopped growing when he was fucking twelve or something. He fumbled around with his room keys and his car keys while Sam blinked at him. “Because I am. Alive. Like no vampire or ghost or ghoul or something else,” he fell into babbling because he was still a nervous talker, that would never change, “Not a demon either.” He added and resisted the urge to unzip his hoodie and twist around until he could show the anti possession tattoo.

 

He had had that done between hospital release and rehab start, congratulating himself on surviving a human disaster by ensuring that a supernatural one couldn't happen.

 

“I... oh my god, I can't believe I'm seeing you.”, Sam shook off whatever he might have been thinking and he easily shifted the bag of groceries he was carrying to one arm to stretch out his hand. “How have you been?” And Chuck had no idea what to say to that that wasn't 'how the fuck are you out of the Cage with the world still standing?'

“Good,” he settled on after a really awkward pause and Sam must have caught onto whatever was flickering over Chuck's face just then because he smiled a little more guarded.

 

“You wanna catch up?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

One and a half hours later, sitting across from Sam in a diner booth and Chuck knew even less about what he could say. Seemed like he had missed a lot by no longer being privy to a sneak peek view and as awful as it might sound, god almigthy was he happy about it. He didn't even know where to start... Castiel playing God and killing the last Archangel, those Leviathans sounded like a hoot.

 

And now Castiel and Dean were dead.

 

And Sam was the one left standing.

 

Chuck was tempted to ask about Adam but he didn't, the fact that Sam hadn't mentioned him probably said enough over where the kid was still trapped.

 

“And you? You said you're not longer a Prophet? And I mean we met another one last year, so... well, Cas said you had to be dead for the next one to be chosen.” Sam pointed out and Chuck grimaced a little, after spending too much time wondering about it, he had just welcomed it and stopped asking how or why. Too happy about the end result.

 

“I don't know,” he told Sam who opened his lips but Chuck talked over it, “And I don't really care. I got my life back, my own thoughts, my own ideas. The only one making choices for myself is me now.” And Sam's face told him that he just then understood that sentiment rather perfectly well. “I've been writing about local folklore in the Columbia area for a news station, and been developing some book ideas. Nothing Supernatural anymore in my life, I fear.”

“Hope you don't take it the wrong way if I say that makes me very happy.” Sam gave him in a smile and Chuck mirrored it, “People usually don't get to step away from it, it's a relief to know that someone did manage it. Gives me hope.”

 

And that made Chuck so happy that he could have glowed.

 

Giving Sam Winchester hope only weeks after he had lost his brother.

 

They exchanged phone numbers when it was time for Sam to hit the road again and Chuck smiled at Baby in the parking lot of the motel. He didn't think they would ever have a reason to call each other, but it seemed like the right thing to do, and Sam insisted on giving him the numbers of some hunters in the area for “just in case your local folklore ever becomes too real.” Chuck thanked him and then watched Baby roll out onto the street and take off.

 

\--

 

Two years passed until he saw Sam again and in the meantime he had written one more book that had found more attention and acclaim than the entire Supernatural series and admittedly Chuck was quite proud of that. Under advice from his new publisher he had published that book under a new pseudonym to distance himself from Supernatural as well as protecting his privacy and the job for the Columbia Historical that he didn't want to give up.

 

And the station didn't want to give him up either, rather they had widened their area and program and offered up a coverage of all of Missouri now.

 

And it was during such a trip to talk to locals for a story in Sedalia that Chuck made a detour to a local grocery store and found himself rounding an aisle before blinking at the two men bickering over pie, one of which Chuck knew well. “Oh god no,” it escaped him rather too loudly and both men stopped talking to look over to him. “Please don't tell me that my fairytale monster is actually real!” He went a little highpitched in the end and the unknown guy turned to raise both eyebrows up at Sam.

 

“Hey, Chuck,” Sam went for a little more traditional greeting, setting down the pies he had been holding to stretch out a hand that Chuck took reluctantly. “It's good to see you again. Did your folklore job bring you here?” Chuck nodded, found himself surprised that Sam actually remembered, the other guy went from slightly surprised to completely confused.

“You wanna introduce me to your little friend there, Samsquatch,” the stranger wanted to know and Chuck scowled at him, even from three steps away he could tell that the guy wasn't taller than him at all.

 

Sam blinked and then it was his turn to get confused as he looked to his companion, “you don't recognize him?” Chuck frowned, he might be getting old but his memory was still fine, he had never met the other... and then something snapped together in his memory, like some kind of belated chemical reaction and he stumbled back. One, two, three steps. Sam rushed forward to catch him when Chuck lost his footing a little.

 

“Why do I have the feeling he knows me though?”

 

Chuck ignored Gabriel's confusion in order to brush Sam's hands off once he was standing again, trying to will down his wildly beating heart. So many years he had managed to stay clear of this shit, so many years no contact with anything Supernatural. Why now? And why did it have to be a fucking Archangel? And wasn't the guy supposed to be dead? Chuck had fucking seen him die at the hand of his mega dickish brother!

 

“Eh...” Sam stuttered for a moment, taking a step back again when he must have seen Chuck's panic. “Gabe, meet Chuck Shurley.” Gabriel went from slouching to standing ramrod straight so fast that Chuck had to fight an instinct to hide behind Sam.

“What?” The not so dead Archangel slash Trickster blurted out, brows drawing together in a frown, “but he has to be dead!”

 

Alive but still a dick then.

 

“Sorry?” Chuck snarked back and Gabriel turned a little sheepish, “I'm not dead and I'm standing right here. And though I'm interested a little bit over how you are alive when I saw you die,” Gabriel and Sam both winced while he talked, “I am a little more interested right now if I should pack my bag and hightail it out of here because my little folklore might be too real for my tastes. Are you here for the Beaman Monster, Sam?” Sam nodded, eyes full of apologies and Chuck gave a clipped nod as well. “Alright, nice talking to you then.” He turned on the spot and began to walk off, groceries abandoned, he was little more than an hour out from Columbia, he could do that at home.

 

“Chuck!” Sam called after him though before Chuck could walk away for more than one aisle, and he stopped because those damn Winchesters and damn Sam for having sacrificed himself for all of them. “Just stay here, Gabe, gimme a sec.” He heard Sam mumble to Gabriel before footsteps hurried towards Chuck. “Hey, listen, I'm sorry.” Sam started as Chuck turned to face him again, “In my defense, the monster seems to have established only recently again, we heard about it by sheer happenstance. We would have sent someone else to check it out but Dean has been crawling up the walls and we needed to get out.”

 

Wait...

 

“Dean?!” Chuck choked out and he felt a headache approaching fast, Sam bit his lower lip and looked like a puppy who didn't know how to not screw the situation up further. “You guys really can't die, can you?” Chuck wanted to know, and then flinched over the bitter tone in his voice that he hadn't meant to come out. Couldn't these guys get peace or a break once in their life.

“Yeah, no,” Sam mentioned and shifted a little, “apparently he was never dead in the first place. Cas and him went to Purgatory.”

 

Alright. That sounded... like a vacation... a terrible one.

 

“But they're both back and we went through some... fun stuff since then,” Sam explained without explaining anything and Chuck's head was throbbing now, he needed to get out of here. “How much do you know about this monster?”

“No!” Chuck shook his head immediately, “Nope, no, niet! I am not getting involved in this, talk to the locals, just like I did. I don't want anything to do with your hunting anymore! And you yourself told me how happy you were that someone had gotten out! I thought you wanted to try that, too?”

 

“Didn't stick,” Sam told him and he didn't look sorry about it in the slightest, he looked content, settled, like something had finally fallen into place for him. Chuck was happy for him but he could be even happier from afar. “Listen, I respect that you want to stay out of it, I do. You had a crappy life because of something those dicks up high chose you for.”

 

“That was Dad, not us!”

 

“Gabe, shut up!” Sam called over his shoulder to the hidden Gabriel who huffed and then staid silent, “I would just be asking you to come down to the motel with us, tell us what you found out and then you can go home and we take care of the monster. It would spare us some time researching. Please?”

 

He wanted to say no.

 

He was all prepared to say no but Sam was looking at him, _looking_ at him.

 

“Fine.”

 

\--

 

In the motel room, Chuck was greeted by Dean and Castiel but he preferred to keep his arms crossed over his chest in a defensive matter. Shaking Sam's hand was one thing but Dean had threatened him and kidnapped him to be bait to get Raphael to scare away Lilith and Castiel had brought him that idea. Neither of them had ever apologized for what had been one of the scariest days of Chuck's life. Neither of them had even looked sorry later.

 

Sam must have texted his brother because neither Dean nor Castiel looked surprised over Chuck stepping into their motel room. He found books and weapons lazily flung around the room and he perched stiffly on the chair Sam pointed to. Dean and Castiel were shunned to sit on one of the beds so Sam could take the other chair at the table, Gabriel leaning against the wall a few steps behind him.

 

Chuck hadn't been this uncomfortable in a long time.

 

“Alright, let's get this over with.”

 

He told them every little detail he had found out himself and Sam made notes while the others just listened and when he was down to the last piece of information he could give them he was ready to bolt.

 

“That was all, wasn't it? I can go now?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam said and looked a little thrown back over Chuck's apparent discomfort and the blaringly obvious twitchy eyes. “Thank you for this, we'll take care of the rest.”

“Great,” Chuck mumbled and then got to his feet, “good to see you all alive then, have a good hunt. Goodbye.” And before any of them could say something he hightailed it out of the motel room and down the parking lot to where he had parked his car.

 

He had the door handle in his hand when his name got called.

 

By the one Chuck was most afraid of in that room.

 

He tensed his shoulders even further and made no move to turn around even when footsteps stopped at his side, maybe three feet between them. Too close Chuck's heart and mind and soul was telling him, he was too close, he was too close and there was nowhere to run from him.

 

“I'm sorry.” And Chuck only listened because Gabriel sounded sincere. “I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you to move on...”

“Frankly,” Chuck started and turned to face the angel after all, despite his better judgement, “it was damn easy to move on. To leave this all behind and pretend it never happened in the first place. I stopped asking why and why me a long time ago, Gabriel. All I want is to live my life, my non supernatural life. And yes, maybe I'm a freak of nature because Prophets don't get second chances at being just a normal human but I did. And I don't care if it's because of God or one of your douchy brothers or some other cosmic scale entity, all that counts for me is that I got this chance to finally live my dreams and I took it. And all that,” he pointed over to where Dean was watching them from the open motel room door, “all of that is stuff I left behind. I'm not cut out for this, I just want to be Chuck.”

 

Gabriel watched him for a moment and Chuck couldn't see anything in his eyes but then Gabriel raised his hand to snap his fingers and Chuck flinched against the car door, too frozen for a moment to react when he saw the piece of paper held out to him.

 

“Sigils, anti angel, anti demon, frankly something against everything, in case you might still be missing something,” Gabriel explained as Chuck hesitantly took the paper. “I respect your choices, Chuck, I truly do. And I understand, very much so.” And maybe he actually did, considering how long the guy had lived as a Pagan God and tried to forget that he had ever been something else, until the Winchesters had stumbled into his life and messed everything.

 

“Are you happy now?” Chuck couldn't help but ask and Gabriel threw a look over his shoulder, Sam had joined his brother at the door.

“Yeah, I am. I found my place,” Gabriel answered him with a smile and Chuck could mirror it, if only weakly so.

“And so did I,” Chuck told him and then stepped back to open his car door, “Thank you, Gabriel.”

 

“No problem, Chucky Cheese. And if you ever find yourself in a hassle, pray.”

 

Chuck nodded and then slipped into his car, he waved to Gabriel and then to the Winchesters as he drove off, back home.

 

Back home to his normal normal life.

 

\--

 

Three hours later, shopping cart loaded with groceries for the weekend, Chuck was browsing through the cereals when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and blinked at the smiling petite brunette.

 

“Hey, Chuck Shurley, right?” She spoke up and he nodded, a little short on words while she beamed so prettily, blue eyes round and so full of light. “My name is Lauren. I work at the Historical?”

“Yes,” his mind remembered how to work just then, “You're one of the editors, right?” He got a nod in turn and was so proud over not having stuttered, “Am I late on handing something in?”

 

He better not have missed a deadline, this whole Sedalia trip had made him so tired to write about the Beaman Monster.

 

“No,” Lauren quickly waved that off, “I was actually hoping I would meet you outside work.” Chuck's heart just about then decided to start pounding away and his palms grew sweaty. “Would you maybe want to get a coffee someday?”

 

\--

 

Just Chuck and his normal happy life.

 


End file.
